That night, the members of the team reached a silent, unanimous consensus: no matter how bizarre John's methods appeared, and no matter how much he looked like a true madman in the heat of the moment, they would never, ever doubt him again. His results spoke louder than his eccentricities.
John fell into a deep sleep that night with a lingering smile on his face, though the source of his contentment felt entirely new to him. The evening had taken an unexpected turn after the barbecue had wound down.
As the others retreated to their makeshift beds, leaving only John and Cissel to keep watch, a heavy, comfortable silence had settled between them. Cissel hadn't said a word for hours.
Then, without warning, she had leaned over. Before John could process the movement, she planted a soft, fleeting kiss on his cheek. Without a word of explanation, she had bolted, running to find a sleeping spot as far away from him as the camp's perimeter would allow.
